


(Title in Progress)

by CWhit, eemawrites



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood, Court of Owls, Eating Disorders, M/M, Murder, Talons, This is an Oc Fic, Y’all know how the Court be, getting impaled on a spear sucks, tags will be updated as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26924278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CWhit/pseuds/CWhit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eemawrites/pseuds/eemawrites
Summary: This is an OC Talon fic. Tags will be updated as eema and I continue to update with chapters.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	(Title in Progress)

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly as it says on the can. This fic has been getting worked on since March, and we will be attempting to get weekly or bi-weekly chapters out fairly regularly. This is an OC fic- don’t like, don’t read.

When he’d been skewered, he’d screamed.

Not a scream of pain- no, pain was irrelevant- a scream of pure frustration, of anger at being pinned to the wall like a bug, unable to free himself as his target fled.

Now he hung limp, hands gripping the shaft of the spear just to have something to hold onto, toes of his boots just barely brushing the floor. He’d already tried to pull it out, but it was buried too deeply in the oak paneling behind him and he didn’t have the leverage he needed. He’d already been pinned for hours. His body was wearing itself out trying to heal him around the spear, he was trembling from holding himself tense and weak from blood loss. _If the Court knew how he’d failed-_

He stopped himself. He _hadn’t_ failed. Not yet, at least. The knife he’d thrown had been true, and he could see his target’s foot, slack in the doorway of the library he was in. He’d completed this part of the mission, and the Court would recognize that. They _had_ to recognize that.

The fire was dying out now, nothing but glowing embers in the bottom of the massive fireplace that took up almost a whole wall, and the cold was creeping in through the giant bay window he’d crashed through. Despite his suit, he was getting chilled. The gray dawn was beginning to break on the edge of the city, but-

He gathered himself for what he figured would be his last attempt at getting free. Bracing against the spear, he planted both feet on the wall, gritted his teeth, and shoved off the wall as hard as he could.

* * *

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew he was lying on his chest. His gut ached, but the damned spear... At least he wasn't pinned anymore. His eyes skimmed the room, and he elected to drag himself behind the couch. Once he was out of sight of the door, he could let himself heal for a few minutes. Surely the other target could wait a little longer.

He allowed himself to relax, as much as he could with the crawling feeling of his gut knitting itself back together. He'd felt it before, of course, but it never got any less unpleasant.

If he was lucky, the other target hadn't been alerted by the fight in the library. As soon as he felt strong enough, he got up, careful not to hurt his still-healing insides. He took one last glance around the library and grimaced. The pool of blood was unbelievably wide- he had lost more blood than any human could survive losing. Aside from that, the “blood” was matte black instead of a shiny bright red- another giveaway that he wasn’t especially normal in any sense of the word. He probably wouldn’t have the time to clean it up, and he took little comfort in the fact that when the GCPD tested it, the little bits of electrum that had his DNA on it would come back to a child who died- legally, at least- twenty years ago.

The Court would be furious at him for the attention that would bring, even if there was no other evidence to be found.

Hopefully they would be generous enough to ignore it by the time he returned.

He turned back to the body in the doorway, kneeling down to examine the man. He was clearly dead, and had been for hours. Although it was mostly pointless, he still crooned the Court's orders. "Jonathan Halsted. The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

With that formality over, he wandered through the mansion, observing (read: gawking at) the blatant displays of wealth on every surface as he passed them. The Court liked to flaunt their wealth, but this manor was not owned by a member of the Court and he had never seen someone who was stupid enough put so much of their net worth into their surroundings. Gold and statuettes and paintings and mounted exotic animals were in every corner and on every wall. The sun finally, finally, peeked over the edge of the skyline as he found what must have been the second target's bedroom.

He drew a knife off his chest, and kicked the door in. He took his time stepping into the room, glancing around as he did. The bed, directly to his right, was empty. The window, also to his right, was wide open and on the windowsill perched another of the Court’s Talons. A girl- his former target, he assumed- lay dead under him, her throat slit efficiently.

She couldn't have been dead for more than three minutes.

The other Talon observed him coldly, head tilted- almost owl-like. He could read the vague disappointment in the other Talon's posture, the way his shoulders slumped just slightly. He sheathed the knife after a moment’s consideration, deciding ultimately that he would be able to draw it in time if the other attacked him. He put the pieces together in a second. He knew the Talon was here for a reason, and logically the Court wouldn’t have sent another Talon for any other reason than to recover him, dead or alive. The Court had three “never-do” rules: never attract too much attention, never have more than one Talon active in the field at a time, and never leave a Talon in the field to be found.

They must have thought he'd failed, somehow.

The Talon on the windowsill hopped down into the room, stepping gracefully over the body without disturbing it. “The Court was concerned for you,” he started off with, and there was so much to pick apart in that simple statement. The Court was concerned- concerned about what? His progress? His delay? His loyalty? What would the Court of Owls possibly have to worry about? Especially concerning him, their loyal Talon? His mind raced with the possibilities, the theories, but he was sure to give no external signs of his uncertainty. The Talons were excellent at reading each other, even through the uniforms.

“They wanted to know what was taking you so long to return, boy.”

So it was the delay. “I was injured.” He winced at how thin it sounded, but took comfort in the fact that it was the truth. He was injured, and if the injury was something he should have been able to prevent, well, who was to say he could? No one saw him get skewered by a civilian target.

“I am aware- I watched you get yourself free.”

_Shit._ Just his luck, of course. He tilted his head, angling his body language into something a little more aggressive, but still didn't open his mouth. He hoped it conveyed annoyance with not being helped out rather than defensiveness at being injured by a civilian target.

It worked. “I decided you did not need my help while you recovered,” the Talon snapped, head tipping up in a way that suggested he had lifted his chin in defiance. “But the Court wanted both of your targets dead-” and you were taking your sweet time getting around to it, “-and if I had not stepped in, she would have woken soon. She had already reset her alarm twice, boy.” His head tipped sideways again, questioningly. “What were you doing?”

“I’m dehydrated.” He almost didn’t stop himself from tacking on a duh at the end. “I wasn’t recovering as fast as I should have been.”

The Talon seemed to accept this, nodding slowly as he took a step back. “We should get you back, then. Are you recovered enough to keep up?”

It was a jab, but he didn’t take the bait as he moved to the window and set his palms on the sill. His claws dug into the wood, leaving gouges, and he quickly pulled away. “There are still things I have to do here,” he admitted, almost sheepishly.

“Like what?” the Talon prompted shortly. He was visibly impatient now, all tense lines and jerky movements, and he could understand why. Someone was bound to discover the bodies sometime today, and neither of them could be here still when they were unless they wanted the Court to retire and replace them.

“Like cleaning up the blood in the library? I mean-” The other Talon hissed with frustration, but he talked over him. “I mean, I just thought maybe the Court would appreciate us keeping the police from getting any evidence but sure, if you’re in such an all-fired hurry- by all means, let’s go. It’s just-”

The other Talon swore under his breath but shoved past him. “Come on, then. We need to hurry.”

“-No, I mean really- if it’s too much to ask of you- seriously-” The other Talon cut him off with what was clearly a glare, even under the hood. He muttered something else about how it was too much trouble, and nearly ran into the guy when he stopped in the door to the library.

"Are you _fooling?_ " The other Talon's voice was tense, and when he glanced into the library, he realized why. They were staring at the pool of blood across the room, the blood all over the wall around the spear, and the streaks across the floor to the couch and _whoops_ , maybe they really should leave it. He was about to suggest as much when the Talon whirled and pushed him back- not hard, but firm. He staggered anyway.

The other Talon nodded to himself like that confirmed something. "Here's the plan. You are going to go to the kitchen and fetch water for yourself. I am going to clean this mess up. You are going to stay on the first floor and keep watch. I will come get you when we are ready to leave. Go.” And he spun him around and pushed him back towards the hall.

It took him a moment to realize that he’d just been told to get a drink, and another to realize he’d been told that getting a drink was _priority_ over watching the other Talon’s back. He turned back in confusion, already protesting with, “But-”

“Hush,” the other Talon ordered, flapping a hand at him. “Go fetch some water before you faint on me.”

_I’m not going to_ faint _!_ “But-”

“Go.” This time it was firm, so he gaped for another second before turning obediently and making his way downstairs.

* * *

In theory, obtaining and consuming water shouldn’t have been very hard for him. He was the Court’s Talon, after all- the ultimate weapon, bred and raised to be so. He was capable of terrifying acts of violence and carried hundreds of years’ worth of legacy with the mantle of Talon.

But when he tugged his hood off and lifted the glass to his lips, he realized-

He couldn’t remember the last drink he’d had.

_It doesn’t matter_ , he told himself, despite the fact that when he tried to recall drinking, he only felt the phantom press of a needle in the crook of his elbow. It didn’t matter that he felt sick at the thought of actually _swallowing_ the liquid. He could get over it.

He picked the glass back up, pointedly ignoring the way his gut knotted itself up at the concept, and threw it back as quickly as he could. He almost choked on the sensation of it going down his throat, He set the glass down as gently as he could despite the urge to throw it as far away from him as he could and swore to himself that he’d never do that again as his claws bit deep into the granite countertop. He turned out of the kitchen as he pulled on his hood.

Technically, he’d fulfilled the order to get a drink. Now he had to keep watch.

* * *

Gotham was relatively quiet and no intruders appeared while they were in the mansion. His gut had finished healing a few hours before- he knew it had finished, even though his skin had closed over it nearly immediately, because it finally stopped squirming- and he had picked a good, but not comfortable, spot overlooking the driveway and the main entrance, set high up on a wall that didn’t touch the ceiling (for fashion’s sake, he guessed, and something called “modernistic open floor plans”). Had he still been human, perhaps his muscles would be complaining at his stillness, but the electrum had made him more than human and he was able to stay crouched atop the wall for the nearly two and a half hours it took for the other Talon to reappear.

The other Talon cocked his head, then looked straight up to his perch on top of the wall. 

"Come down," he called. "The floor is clean and we need to eat."

_Huh?_ "I thought we were leaving?" 

The other Talon turned and gestured impatiently towards the window. The watery Gotham sunlight was leaking in, and he looked back over his shoulder. "By all means, head back. I am staying here until it's dark, and I can get back without being seen,” he snapped. “I wonder which path the Court will appreciate?” He spun on his heel and strode out, shooting over his shoulder, “I will be in the kitchen when you feel like coming down.”

He hopped off the wall and dragged his palms down it to slow himself just a bit. He landed hard and let his legs bend to absorb the impact, pausing to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself. When nothing twinged or pulled wrong, he followed the other Talon down the hall and into the kitchen, picking a spot along the back wall to put his back against. He put a foot up too, balancing his weight on one leg and letting the other rest on the wall as he watched the other Talon compile- well, he wasn’t sure _what_ it was, and while it _looked_ edible, it was entirely unappetizing to him. As the Talon went about prepping a second plate, he tried to steel himself for the sensation of putting something in his stomach again.

He pulled his hood off, yanked the tie out of his hair, and raked his fingers through it, snagging on the tangles and working the flakes of blood out of the strands, sweeping all of the loose flyaways back and tying it back up at the base of his skull in a long ponytail. It was grounding, but-

It didn’t work.

The other Talon handed him the plate and he picked up the food- somewhat reluctantly- and promptly felt his stomach twist at the thought of actually eating it. He glanced up and saw the other Talon watching him still.

He bit his tongue and opened his mouth to speak. “Wha-”

“Shut up and eat.”

“Uh…” He put the food to his lips and touched it with his teeth. Another quick glance at the other Talon and he pulled it away, imitating a chewing motion as he did so. 

The Talon yanked off his hood angrily. “Eat!” he snapped, running a hand over his short grey hair. He couldn’t have been more than twenty years older and had a subtle scar across his right temple. _He’s got a lot of freckles. Sheesh._ “I know what you’re doing, kid.”

The younger Talon dropped the chewing act and huffed. “I’m fine.” _I don’t need you to mother-hen_ me _, old man_ , he thought.

The older Talon raised his eyebrows at his skinny frame. “You sure?”

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He reached up and yanked at his ponytail, looking to get the attention off him. “What’s your name, anyway?”

The older man took a bite and said nothing. 

That seemed like a challenge. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m Chase,” he offered, “Chase Whitney.”

Still no response.

“I did the trapeze, back when I was still with the circus.”

The guy snorted and turned to him. “I do not care, _Chase_. Just eat your sandwich already.”

_Well, that was kind of rude._ “You saved my ass. I just want to know who to thank!”

“It won’t matter. We’ll never see each other again.”

He was right, of course. It was unlikely the Court would ever pair them on a mission again, but that didn’t stop Chase from being curious. It didn’t hurt that talking might get him out of eating, as well.

The other Talon was still glowering at him, so he reluctantly lifted the sandwich to his lips again, and took a small bite. His stomach seemed to flip over on itself and his throat closed up. He coughed and lurched towards the sink.

The older Talon rolled his eyes and slapped Chase hard on the back. “For God’s sake, son! Have you never eaten before in your life? _Chew_ the goddamned thing!”

Chase coughed out the bite and leaned against the sink heavily. He sucked in a breath and said, “I’m fine.”

The older man sighed and handed the sandwich back to him. “Just- just chew this time, ok? And my name is Elijah.”

Chase bit into the sandwich again and resisted the urge to gag. After a few moments, he swallowed, feeling the lump of food slide down his throat.

* * *

As dusk fell, Chase felt more and more antsy. As a Talon, he was used to being inactive for long periods of time between missions, but he wasn’t so accustomed to sitting around and waiting while he was technically in the middle of a mission. Traveling to his target and back to the roost was considered just as much of a mission as the actual strike since it was so risky, and as such his mission definitely wasn’t over yet.

He could tell Elijah was in the same boat no matter how closed-mouthed the other Talon was. He was snappish, prickly, and a constant nagger about anything and everything. First the execution of Chase’s own mission, then getting him to eat, then staying in the mansion- and heaven forbid Chase even _think_ about approaching any of the windows. And yeah, most of that could be pinned on the feeling of needing to get back to the Roost, but Chase couldn’t see why the Court had decided to send anyone after him in the first place, and _him_ in particular out of the dozens of Talons in the labyrinth. Did the Court doubt him?

Hadn’t he proved himself worthy of the mantle of Talon?

He shook his head and pushed the thought away. It was not his place to question the decisions of the Court. If they decided to send Elijah after him, then that was that.

_But_ , a small part of him whispered, _-but if the Court is pleased with the outcome of my mission, perhaps I could ask_ why _after I report back._ Another part of him highly doubted the Court would be pleased.

Looking out the window from his place on the couch in the giant library hall, he watched the moon crest the skyline. It was huge and full, and he knew Elijah would not be too pleased with that since Gotham would be bright during the night. (A part of him was glad that the old bird would probably be pissed off about it.) As soon as the last bits of the sun’s light died in the west, he stepped over the broken glass out onto the window ledge and scaled up the bricks to the roof. He knew the other Talon would follow eventually.

The night air was crisp and cold as it ripped at his hair and tried to push him around. The rooftops were outlined in the clear silver that only came from a vivid full moon- good for free running, bad for trying to sneak back to the roost. Elijah, standing just behind him, seemed to be just as excited by the fresh wind in his face, tense and _radiating_ restless energy. 

Chase launched off the edge, letting himself drop to the next roof, rolled with the impact and took off running, thrilled by the taste of freedom. A light thud behind him let him know that the other Talon was there, although whether he was running for the joy of it or because he was following the Court’s mission to bring him back was up for debate.

He knew that they were liable to draw the Batman’s attention, but he also knew that two Talons were more than a match for him and his child sidekick. He was itching for a good fight, so in all honesty he was kind of hoping Batman would show up. The Court would probably forgive their recklessness if they brought Batman down, when he thought about it. He hopped over an air conditioning unit and flung himself off the building, relishing the sheer drop as he fell. He threw himself a line and stuck his landing on the next roof.

He didn’t wait for the old Talon to catch up- he hurtled a set of pipes and kept running, mapping out the city in his mind. He was on the edge of the business sector- there were several entrances to the tunnels in those buildings along with many Nests tucked into the walls. The nearest tunnel entrance was off to the left, a few buildings over and on the ground level.

He let himself fall further with the next roof drop, anchoring his cable halfway down the building and once he’d made the full arc of that, let himself drop another three floors before he threw another cable to catch himself on. The flip that came naturally at the end of that swing was too tempting to resist, so he flipped backwards and landed on his feet. He looked over his shoulder to see Elijah standing on the edge of the skyscraper two buildings back, making no move to follow. His posture seemed exasperated, even, like the old bird was irritated that he had chosen to flaunt his youth and take a path only a trapeze artist would be able to think of.

He turned fully around and sent him an exaggerated shrug like, _What’s the problem?_ The other Talon disappeared over the edge of the building, and he lost the dark figure against the skyline. He kept going. Either Elijah would meet him in the tunnels, or they would meet again at the roost. If the other Talon didn’t make it back to the Court, then obviously he wasn’t a very good Talon.

He picked a window lock and dropped soundlessly to the floor, swept the room briefly, and proceeded to the tunnel entrance. Getting inside was no hassle. Problems only arose when the door shut and it was suddenly incredibly dark. He groped for the wall, found it, and then tried to find the opposite wall. As soon as he made sure that the wall was farther away than his arms’ length, he was able to shake off the panic. He kept one hand firmly on the wall as he moved forward despite knowing the tunnels by pure memory and years of training. When the darkness became too oppressive, he crooned bits of songs to himself, pulling on fractured memories of his childhood.


End file.
